a stark silhouette against the sky
by hannabanana13
Summary: Modern AU: When Arya thinks of home, she thinks of the wide backyard at Winterfell. The way the sun sets orange and pink over the wide horse barn and the way the noise of the town never reaches the wide expanse of their mansion.


Arya Stark twists her neck uncomfortably and settles down deeper into the armchair that decorates the left half of her family's living room. The plush red fabric wrinkles under her weight, but does nothing to relieve the aches and pains caused from the fall off her horse earlier that morning.

"Arya!" Her mother—Catelyn—reprimands her from the couch. "Please pay attention."

Arya sits up and sighs. "Yes, Mom." She agrees, and blinks her eyes a couple times in hopes that it will help to keep her awake. She hates these family meetings more than she hates dressing up in the flowery dresses that her sister so dearly likes.

"Good." Her mother says dryly, shifting her attention back to the rest of the family, who—excluding her father—is scattered on seats around the room. "As I was saying, the Baratheons will be coming to discuss important business with your father. As well as most of the Lannister family, as they are also very crucial to the success of the company."

"Yeah, Robert just needs their money." Bran interrupts, scoffing from his seat on the other red armchair across from Arya. He shakes his head in disgust.

"Bran." Catelyn scolds gently—much more kinder than she had scolded Arya a few moments before—and resumes her speech: "So we will be welcoming them into our home for the weekend. Myrcella will be sleeping in Sansa's room, on the extra bed, Tommen will be bunking with Bran, Joeffery with Robb, and the rest we will find space for in the guest bedrooms, okay?" Catelyn waits for all six nods before continuing. "That means we need this house clean by Friday morning, so all of you are in charge of cleaning your bedrooms and your bathrooms, understood?"

A chorus of 'yes's follows her words.

"We will be hosting a party on Saturday night for Robert and all of our friends within Winterfell. It is a professional party with a lot of important business people, but your father expects all of you to be there. This means you will be on your best behavior, and it also means that you will be dressed appropriately." Catelyn raises her voice to mask the sound of at least four of her children's groaning. "No complaints. Sansa, you are in charge of dress shopping for you _and your sister_. Robb, you are in charge of making sure that all of your brothers have suits, shoes and ties to wear. If they don't, come talk to me and I'll take them shopping. Does everyone understand?"

"Yes, ma'am." The Stark children murmur as one.

Catelyn smiles gently. "Thank you." She rises gracefully from the couch, swishes her long red braid over her shoulder, and exits the living room.

As soon as she leaves the room, Arya stands up and faces the room. "So, who wants to run away from home before the weekend?" She laughs when four hands shoot into the air. "I'm just teasing, but what are we going to do? The Lannisters are a bunch of little shits."

Jon laughs loudly at her language and turns it into coughing when Sansa glares at him fiercely from underneath her newly cut bangs. She turns angry eyes to Arya. "The Lannisters can seem conceited, but they really are nice people. Besides, Joeffrey is very handsome." She says grandly, and then she too, rises gracefully from her chair and exits the living room, pulling her phone from her pocket as she goes.

"I didn't really want to run away with Sansa anyway." Jon says casually, standing from his chair as well. "She would be to annoying on the road. Let's leave tomorrow Arya." Jon says, and Arya just grins at his retreating back. They had always gotten along the best—the misfits in a family of perfection. Both equally flawed and equally outcasts among the other Starks.

Sansa pokes her head back around the door. "Arya, what color do you want your dress to be?"

Arya pulls out her iPhone from her back pocket of her jeans and doesn't look up at her older sister. "Black."

"Long or short?"

"Don't care."

"Alright." Sansa says, and retreats back into the kitchen. Arya can hear her tapping keys on her phone as she goes, so Arya assumes she's shopping online already. She rolls her eyes and starts texting one of her friends from school.

"Robb." Rickon pipes up from the couch. He is so tiny that Arya can barely see the top of his red hair over the edge of the edge of the sofa arm. Rickon waits for Robb to look at him, before he asks: "Do you think Shaggydog can come to the party?" He points down to his large Shepherd dog where he is lying beneath Rickon's feet.

Robb walks over to Rickon and lays one hand one Rickon's small shoulder. "No, I don't think so. Dogs aren't allowed in parties. How about you and I take Shaggydog and Greywind up to the lake on Thursday, so then they will be nice and tired all weekend."

"Why?" Rickon's seven year old baby voice still makes Arya grin.

"So then they will be sleepy during the party, and they won't be so sad that they have to stay outside. Okay?"

"Yeah, okay." He says, little voice sad. But he pets Shaggydog on the head and takes off running up the stairs. "We're going up to the lake, Shaggydog!" Arya can hear him yell in excitement from his bedroom.

Robb looks over at her, the only one left in the room. "You alright, Arya?"

"I _hate_ the Lannisters." Arya bursts out.

"You've never met them."

"I know. But—" She stops, remembering where she is and who she is talking too. "Never mind."

Robb stares curiously at her. Jon would have stopped, sat her down, and then asked her what was really wrong, but Robb and her had never gotten along all that well. Besides Robb has already been through the police academy and was a detective before Ned made him second in command in the company, and he was much too busy to listen to his sixteen year old sister. Also, he probably wouldn't be proud that she often sits outside of the kitchen and listens to their parents early morning conversations about the job.

Arya shakes her head. "Nothing. Dad just doesn't like them."

"I know." Robb stares out the west window, at the Stark lands that surrounded their mansion. "But it's alright. They're not so bad."

"Do you need help with anything?" Arya asks, anxious to get out of the house and out of the way of the tornado of cleaning that Catelyn would surely be for the next few days. Even if her escape would only be the small office that Robb operated out of when Ned needed help.

"Actually, I do." Robb says, gesturing for her to follow him. They walk down to the office together, past the horse pastures and past the trails that lead down into the forest. Robb's office used to be Ned's, back before the company took off and became the largest and well known industry in the United States, back before Ned went commercial. It was small but two stories: the first level held office supplies and several large computers and printers; but the upstairs had Robb's large desk and wide French doors that led out onto a small porch. It had tall oak chairs and smelled like Ned's cologne. Sometimes, when Ned was gone on business trips and Robb was busy, Arya would come down to the office and sit in the swivel chair and hide away. Even though Robb was still here right now, it still felt like a different time, shut off from the world.

"What do you need me to do?"

"I need you to file away some papers. Okay?"

Arya nods and sits on one of the tall oak chair. "Sure. Show me what to do."

"Give me a minute." He says, and then he shuffles through some papers on his desk, and then opens a few drawers and pulls out some files. He adds a few loose papers to the top of the stack, and then hands it all to Arya. "The filing cabinets are downstairs, and all the files and drawers are labeled."

Arya nods, and shuffles through the papers quickly. "Sure."

"Thanks Arya." He runs a hand through his auburn hair quickly, and glances around as if looking for something. He seems to change his mind about finding it however, as he walks quickly from the room, he pauses on the steps and his voice echoes strangely, when he says. "Arya, I have to run into the police station real quick—to file some paperwork for my last case." He pauses. "You okay here?"

She nods, before remembering he can't see her. "Yeah, go ahead."

"Thanks." He slams the door behind him.

Arya walks down the stairs and revels in the quiet. Inside their house, there is never much quiet. Normally Arya doesn't mind it, she is usually one of the loudest, but recently their father has been quiet and tense at home, Catelyn and Jon have been fighting more and more, and Theon has somehow become more obnoxious. The quiet of Robb's office is a peace Arya enjoys every once in a while.

There are mostly tax returns in Robb's pile of papers, a few health benefits files, and not much that Arya can snoop through. A few letters about an EZ pass, and a couple of bills for the new furniture Ned purchased for his downtown offices. Arya scans through the list of employees on one of the papers, and is pleased to see that she knows most of the names on the office in Winterfell.

But that's when she sees the words. It's a scrap of paper, and on it, in Ned Stark's handwriting: _1214080133_. She reads the numbers through several times to commit them to memory and then slides the small piece of paper under the files in the upper drawer of the cabinet. She doesn't think much of it after that.

Arya finishes her filing and then leaves the office, turning right however, instead of left towards the house, and heads towards the barn. She already rode her horse this morning, but she wants to practice throwing knives again. She's already quite skilled with a gun, Ned taught her when she was eleven and she has become quite proficient since then, and she can even shoot a bow and arrow. However, Jon can send a knife spinning through the air to land point first into a wall from thirty feet away and he's been teaching her ever since. Arya has been practicing throwing an old kitchen knife at a moldy hay bale since Jon has been so busy.

Most of her throws bounce off, but she throws and throws and throws until her shoulder aches and her wrist twinges. She leaves the knife stuck in the hay bale and returns to the house.

When she gets there, the whole family is home. Catelyn bustles her into the house and tells her to set the table. Sansa tries to show her a picture of the perfect dress she just found for Arya, and Bran keeps asking her if she did her Physics homework. It's a little bit hectic, but she joins the bustle with a simple ease. Because Ned gives her a giant hug when he sees her, and Jon tussles her hair when she tries to slip past him to go let Nymeria out of her bedroom.

She loves her family, even if they are crazy.

* * *

The week passes quickly, a busy week of school and after school sports, and much too soon—it's Friday morning. When Arya stumbles out of bed and downstairs for some breakfast, Catelyn informs her that the Lannisters have just landed at the airport and will be arriving at the house in about an hour. Arya stares down at her pajamas in dismay and returns to her bedroom to take a shower and get dressed.

After her shower, she slides on a pair of skinny jeans and her favorite high-tops. She throws on a green t-shirt that says: _This is my clone,_ and almost laughs at her anticipation at Catelyn's expression. Surely Sansa is wearing a pretty dress and heels, but Catelyn doesn't understand that Arya hates being a girl. Also she's bad at it.

By the time she is finished procrastinating, she can hear cars outside. She walks downstairs slowly and meets her family outside on the front porch. They're lined up in a row, as if they're waiting for a king. She falls into line without a snide comment, and looks at the row of cars.

Catelyn notices her outfit, however, before she can notice anything about the famous Lannisters. "_Arya, _what are you wearing?" She hisses. Arya turns sideways to look innocently at her mother, but she almost cracks up because both John and Robb are laughing at her. They both look very professional, though, in casual jackets and dark blue jeans. Even Theon is dressed smartly, in a purple button down with a loose tie.

"Ned!" A man bellows loudly, and Arya recognizes Robert Baratheon as he climbs out of the Range Rover. She's seen a picture of him in her father's office downtown, so she remembers the round man with the thick brown beard and matching hair. He's not especially formidable looking, even though he is a shrewd businessman and in charge of a such a dangerous company.

"Hello Robert." Ned replies, stepping forward to shake Robert's hand eagerly.

"How are you old friend?" Robert asks, genially, pumping Ned's hand rather energetically. He eyes Arya's father up and down. "You've gotten fat."

Ned stares rather pointedly towards Robert's bulging midsection. "_Me_?"

Robert's face is frozen for a split second before he bursts into loud guffawing laughter. He laughs so long that Arya almost misses the arrival of the rest of the party. Because when she looks away from Robert, the Lannister family has gathered around the chuckling Mr. Baratheon.

"Uh, Ned." Robert says, pointing behind him. "This is my wife Cersei, my children: Joeffrey, Tommen and Mrycella. Cersei's brother Jaime, and a few of my assistants." He gestures to a few nervous looking women that stand far back behind the group. Behind them, stands about ten men, all of the them dressed in black and clearly armed.

Robert chuckles one last time at Ned, and then looks at all of them in a line. He shakes Robb's hand, kisses Catelyn on the cheek politely. He kisses Sansa's hand and calls her a beauty. He pats Bran and Rickon the head, and nods once to Jon. After he looks at Jon, he sends a quick glance back at Ned and Ned nods once, quickly.

"The rest of my wife's family and some of my business friends are staying in a hotel in town." Robert announces.

Arya wonders what that meant, but no one but her seemed to notice.

When Robert Baratheon's gaze lands on her, he seems to freeze in place. He eyes her up and down and then meets her eyes to stand transfixed. "You…_you_."

Arya stares at her father, but Ned seems a little bit frozen too. She's not sure what to do, but she feels like a bug under a microscope, especially since the entire Lannister family is looking at her too. Arya steps forward. "Hello Robert. I'm Arya."

"Uh, Ar—" Robert clears his throat, loudly. "Arya. You are very beautiful, Arya."

Arya nearly laughs. She is not very beautiful. _Lyanna_ is beautiful, Catelyn is beautiful, Sansa is beautiful, Cersei is beautiful, even Mrycella is beautiful. But Arya Stark has the Stark's dark brown hair and wild grey eyes. She is tall but not graceful. She is thin but not elegant. She's _Arya_, and that's all she'll ever be.

She smiles as nicely as she can and thanks Robert.

Catelyn smiles welcomingly, and starts to move towards the front door. "Welcome to our home. Come inside."

* * *

The Baratheons and the Lannisters stay in the Stark's home all day on Friday, settling in and relaxing. Catelyn forces Arya to change her clothes into something more appropriate for dinner. She puts on a plain white blouse and borrows a pair of Sansa's pale pink ballet flats. Instead of being offended at a pair of her shoes being stolen, Sansa looks almost proud of Arya's wardrobe choices and even slides a thin gold necklace around Arya's neck that apparently 'completes the outfit'. Arya doesn't argue, she is to ready for the day to be over.

Dinner is to be served in their large dining room, a place in the house that was closed off for 359 days of the year. Only for large events or special holidays did Catelyn open the wide oak doors and dust off the 20 person table. When Arya ushers Rickon into the dining room that night, the table has been done up with silver goblets and fancy silver twined plates. Rich ruby-colored napkins are folded at each place mat, and there is several expensive wine bottles decorating the place beside Ned and Robert's places at the table.

Rickon sits beside Robb and folds his small hands onto his lap, looking a little bit lonely without Shaggydog beside them. All six of the Stark children were given Shiloh Shepherds for Christmas last year, when the boys found the injured mother on the side of the road, when returning from a hunting trip. There were six baby pups, and Ned brought them home and gave them as Christmas presents the next day. Catelyn didn't exactly approve; after a month or two the dogs grew tall, and Catelyn was convinced the dogs were actually wolves. Perhaps it was true.

Arya leaves the boys in the dining room and pushes open the door into the kitchen to see if she can steal any desert before they must be seated for dinner. There is dark fudge on the kitchen counter, and both Sansa and Catelyn are bustling around and much too busy to notice as Arya steals a few pieces.

"Arya." Jon whispers over her shoulder, as he steps into the kitchen behind her. He steals a piece of fudge from her hand and eats it quickly before she can take it back. "Have you seen my Chemistry book? I can't find it."

"No…" She answers, staring at him questioningly. "Why do you need it?"

"School starts in a week. I'm trying to find my books."

Arya shakes her head no, and then reaches for the fudge again. Jon grabs her hand before it can reach the plate. Arya glares. "Why are you trying to pack for school right now, anyway? There are famous people in our house." She teases.

"Well, I don't want to talk to them. None of them even know who I am anyway. Catelyn hasn't introduced me yet."

"Is she being rude to you again?" Arya asks, abandoning her attempts at reaching the fudge and turning her attention to her favorite brother.

"It's fine." John says instead of answering. He disappears into the library through the door in the kitchen, probably looking for his chemistry book, and he doesn't return until dinner is on the table.

Sansa passes her carrying a plate in each hand, looking very much like one of those professional waitresses. Arya wants to trip her, if only to prove that she isn't good at everything, but she suppresses the urge and goes off to find Bran.

Arya finds him in his bedroom, hanging from his open windowsill, legs hanging in the breeze. His hair is windblown and his face has a smooth sheen of sweat to it, when he turns around to face her. He's been climbing, she can tell. His wolf, still unnamed, lies on his bed, staring at her carefully when she steps into the room.

"Have you ever heard of Tecumseh?" Bran asks her when she reaches him. He kicks out his legs and taps his boots against the grey stone of their house. Arya wants to pull him back inside the safety of the house, wants to protect him from the cruel world, but she clasps her hands together and waits for him to explain.

"No." She answers.

"My Lit teacher read us a poem about him today. I think he was trying to tell us something important. The poem is on the table if you want to read it." He ducks his head beneath the frame of the window and points to the small table beside the bed.

It's a small piece of folded yellow paper, the edges crinkled as if Bran has read it over and over again. His wolf growls when she reaches for it. Arya reads it aloud, if only to see Bran's expression:

_ So live your life that the fear of death can never enter your heart. Trouble no one about their religion; respect others in their view, and demand that they respect yours. Love your life, perfect your life, beautify all things in your life. Seek to make your life long and its purpose in the service of your people. Prepare a noble death song for the day when you go over the great divide._

_Always give a word or a sign of salute when meeting or passing a friend, even a stranger, when in a lonely place. Show respect to all people and grovel to none._

_When you arise in the morning give thanks for the food and for the joy of living. If you see no reason for giving thanks, the fault lies only in yourself. Abuse no one and no thing, for abuse turns the wise ones to fools and robs the spirit of its vision. _

_When it comes your time to die, be not like those whose hearts are filled with the fear of death, so that when their time comes they weep and pray for a little more time to live their lives over again in a different way. Sing your death song and die like a hero going home._

She can't quite decide if it's a load of bullshit or is actually something worth attempting to understand. Judging by his thoughtful expression, Bran has been pondering the words since he read the poem. Perhaps, she should try to live by the words; but Arya doesn't believe in most of them. She's straightforward: she doesn't believe that all people deserve respect, and she certainly doesn't wake each morning and give thanks for the joy of living. The world is a harsh cruel place, and she arises in the morning in preparation.

Arya wishes she was more like Bran. _He will be a good soldier someday_, she thinks. An honorable man, like her father.

"Arya, Brandon. Please come downstairs for dinner." Sansa's voice carries up the wide stairwell.

Bran stares at her as if waiting for her to make the first move. But it's not like she has a choice, so she tugs him back through the window and they chase each other towards the stairs. If only to prove to Catelyn how little control she actually has, Arya grabs a throw pillow form the bench by the top of the stairs, and slides all the way down the steps on the pillow, only stopping when she crashes into the standing lamp on the landing.

Bran slides down the bannister and gives her a giant high-five when she regains her footing. They do have the decency to look abashed however, when Catelyn lectures them in angry whispers before dragging them towards the dinner table.

* * *

The Lannister children do not look very much alike at all.

Despite all having the same fair shade of golden blonde hair and sparkling green eyes, all three of the royal children were quite distinct in both their looks and their personalities.

Myrcella was by far, the prettiest, as expected. Her hair falls in tiny ringlets, and her high cheekbones and pouty lips give her the impression of a sad princess. She is both kind and polite, and she doesn't look like the type of person that Arya would enjoy talking too. She supposes this is why Catelyn has her sleeping in Sansa's bedroom tonight, instead of her own.

Tommen is both oh-so-young, and very adorable, still with the young looks of childhood, although he is nearly Bran's age. He doesn't look much like Joeffrey, who has a narrow face and a hard jaw. Even Arya has to admit Joeffrey is handsome, and although she has no prior quarrel with the boy, she never ever wants to speak with him. He has cold angry eyes.

Cold angry eyes just like his mother.

Ned and Robert dominate the conversation at the dinner table, while Arya shovels down mouthful and mouthful of delicious food, she listens to them chatter about meaningless topics. She respects the fact that they kept the business discussion away from the children's ears. Even if one of those children is herself. However, Cersei speaks every once in a while, as if to remind her husband that she is still present as he gulps down more and more wine and flirts with his assistants across the table.

Cersei is very beautiful, Arya decides halfway through the meal. As is her brother Jaime, who sits beside his sister as one of Robert's security team members, and doesn't say a word to his sisters defense, even when Robert winks at one of his secretaries. But Jaime Lannister has a reputation that keeps Arya from liking him, even a little bit.

"Starks." Robert barks suddenly, startling most of the people at the table to jump slightly at his booming voice. "You are very nice children. Where do you all go to school?"

It's Bran that speaks up of course—clearing his throat to answer. "Winterfell Prep, sir."

"Very good." Robert murmurs. He seems to consider this an appropriate amount of talking to the Stark children, and returns his attention to Ned. "I don't know how you stand it up here in the North. In California there is only the warmth of summer."

"I don't like summer." Ned replies coolly, taking a long drink of water from his silver goblet.

"Of course you don't, old friend."

"Excuse me." Catelyn says, rising from her place at the head of the table and starting to fill her arms with plates half-full of food. Sansa rises to help her but Catelyn stills her with a look. "Ned, will you help?"

"Of course, dear." Ned answers and reaches for Robert's plate and cup.

Robert scoffs. "Don't you have maids and cooks for this sort of thing?"

"No." Catelyn answers without any type of explanation.

"We don't have any help. We just do the work ourselves." Ned tells his old friend, clearing several more dishes before following his wife into the kitchen.

Jon nods to Arya when she looks at him for confirmation, and so Arya rises from her chair and skips quickly up the stairs, pausing above the laundry shoot in the closet of the second floor bathroom. She lays on the floor and presses her ear to the tube, hearing her parents whispers echo from the hallway in the kitchen.

"Ned." Catelyn whispers harshly. "He's going to ask you to merge your companies. You are going to have to move to Kings Landing." She says, mentioning the name of the southern city that the Baratheons and Lannisters dominated. Arya can hear her mother set the dishes on the counter, and then Ned's raised voice.

"What choice do I have Catelyn? I need to find out the truth about John."

_Jon? What was wrong with Jon?_ Arya listens harder. But then she hears the sound of the kitchen door and then Robert Baratheon's booming voice, crowing her father's name joyously.

"Can I speak to you in private, old friend?" Robert Baratheon asks. Arya assumes her father nods, because soon the kitchen is quiet.

Kings Landing? Arya didn't want her father to move to Kings Landing. It was said to be a city of crime and deceit, of evil games and threatening people. She rises from the carpet on the bathroom floor and dusts herself off.

She didn't know what games the Baratheons and Lannisters were playing, but she was determined to find out. No matter the price.

* * *

"Sansa!" Arya yells loudly down the hallway, turning in a circle in front of the mirror to see the back of her dress. "_Sansa_."

"Stop screaming." Sansa says crossly, sliding into Arya's room with her usual grace. She locks the door behind her and stares at Arya with raised eyebrows. "What's the problem?"

She can't see it? Arya gestures down at herself. "This." She tugs on the lacy fabric of her dress. "This is the problem."

Sansa steps closer to Arya, standing tall above her in four inch silver pumps. She's wearing a silky lavender dress that drapes around her figure nicely and falls right above her ankles. Sansa's eyes are colored with silver eye shadow and her eyes look wide and much bluer than normal. Sansa has always been the perfect sister, Arya has known and accepted since near after she was born in the Winterfell Mansion all those years ago. But Sansa has flawless pale skin, and she stands tall on long graceful legs. She's all curves in places that Arya secretly fears she will never be, and she holds herself with a figure that would suit a queen. She looks mature and gorgeous. Arya on the other hand, stands about five foot four in her knee high black boots, and she looks like a child playing dress up.

Sansa apparently disagrees. "You look beautiful." She says, walking a full circle around her younger sister and tugging her dress in a few places, as if to fluff it. She finishes her circle in front of Arya and stares critically at her face. "Except you need makeup—a lot of it."

Arya huffs and sits down on her bed. She hates fancy parties—_despises_ _them_—unless they involve black lights and hot dancing, tequila and boys. But Arya is sure that Catelyn will not allow her to even drink champagne at this party. Arya growls, frustrated.

In the far corner of the room, on the floor, Nymeria lifts her head gently from where it rests on her paws and cocks her head to the side.

Sansa leaves the room quickly and returns with a flowery bag, surely full to the brim with makeup, and starts to get to work on Arya's face. She's a little insulted that Sansa demanded she wear makeup, but she knows she won't ever be as pretty as her mother and her sister, so Arya permits it, if only to see if it will help.

"I'm finished." Sansa announces, capping her mascara and stepping away so Arya can see herself in the mirror above her desk. Arya almost doesn't recognize herself. There's a dark beauty staring back at her in the mirror: brown jagged hair that falls gracefully in layers around her face, it smells of strawberries when Arya fingers it gently. Her eyes are dark and wide and oh-so-grey, her cheeks warm and flushed, and her lips rosy red. Arya smiles, experimenting.

"I look…_wow_."

Sansa laughs. "You look beautiful."

"I look stupid." Arya says, but she keeps staring at her reflection in the mirror.

Sansa laughs again. "You're welcome."

"Thanks." Arya murmurs, not wanting to speak to loud. Sansa and Arya rarely even agree on anything long enough to speak this calmly to one another.

Sansa sends her a wistful smile, before leaving Arya's room and closing the door gently behind her. Arya stares at herself in the mirror one last time, before following her sister out of her room, and down the stairs. When she reaches the last step—before entering into the living room from the stairway—she can already hear the bustle of the party even through the closed doors of the living room, and then farther away, the ballroom, where the party is taking place.

Robert Baratheon's voice is heard even through two doors. Arya rolls her eyes and moves through the house to reach the ballroom. In the party, waiters move smoothly through the crowd with trays of champagne and small appetizers. Arya doesn't expect any of them to offer her a drink, but she's a little miffed that they won't even look at her. She stares around at the crowd instead—there must be at least a hundred people in their house at the moment, and Arya can't even find anyone she recognizes.

She moves towards the food, content on eating until she can locate one of her brothers. Surely Catelyn is cooking, and Ned talking to his business men, and surely Sansa is flirting with the Baratheon boy. Arya can't recall the oldest prince's name at the moment.

Arya finds Jon and Bran at the food table, as expected, and hurriedly joins them.

"Arya." Jon says in surprise, moving his hand away from the desert table. "You look wonderful; Sansa did a good job with the dress."  
"Thanks." She barks. "But I look stupid. I would love some _pants_ right now."

Bran, in the process of sipping champagne, snorts and starts coughing.

Arya steals the champagne glass from him, and takes a long swig. "How'd you get a drink anyway?"

"The waitress thought I was cute." Bran shrugs. "She said to come find her after the party was over."

Arya gapes at him. "What? How old was she?"

"Probably eighteen. I don't know. Why?"

"Because you're fourteen, you little shit."

Catelyn, as if possessed by some ancient magic, appears at Arya's elbow the moment the cuss word slips from her lips. She looks to frazzled to notice, however, and only stares quizzically at the glass in Arya's hands before looking to Bran. "Bran, have you seen Robb, Ned wants him to meet a few of his friends. Also, Arya. I need you to look after Rickon. He's currently in the kitchen."

Arya, spotting Sansa and Joeffrey—_that was his name_—across the room grabs Jon by the sleeve before he can escape. She grabs a raspberry off the top of one of Catelyn's famous cupcakes and uses a spoon and one of her hair ties as a sling shot to aim it at her sister's head. But she feels a sort of fondness for her sister today, so she aims it for the Baratheon boy's face instead. She launches it, and both her and Jon take off running for the kitchen before seeing the result of her mischief.

They arrive at the kitchen breathless and laughing, only to be scolded quickly by Catelyn, who pushes Rickon towards Sansa, before glaring at Jon until he leaves the room.

Rickon is clutching his tin toy soldier to his chest when Arya bends down to meet his gaze. At eight, he is tall for his age, but his curly mop of auburn hair and big blue eyes make him look younger than he is. His toy soldier accompanies much of his adventures and he is prone to holding it when he is nervous. Arya expects, with the multitude of strangers in their house tonight, Little Rickon grabbed it in fright.

"Hey, buddy. Wanna go get some food?"

Rickon smiles, and grabs for her hand. They head back into the ballroom, cutting through crowds of gossiping housewives, and some famous celebrities as they make their way towards the desert table. Jon is nowhere to be found, surely having been chased out of the house by an angry Catelyn. Arya sighs.

"You must be one of the Starks." A voice behind her questions, calmly. Surely.

Arya turns to see a very short man with pale golden hair and deep green eyes. A Lannister surely. "And you are?" She pushes Rickon towards the cake and out of earshot. Hands gravitate to hips, although she has to search to find them beneath the folds of her lacy dress.

"Tyrion Lannister." He extends a hand courteously. Arya wonders if everyone in this room is pretending to be someone they're not.

"Arya Stark." She replies, shaking his hand with vigor. "How did you know who I was?"

"The silver eyes."

"You know my family, or you know _of them_?"

The short man—Tyrion—smiles a charming smile. "A little bit of both, I suppose."

Arya harrumphs. "_I suppose_, I know a little bit about your family, as well. Tyrion."

Tyrion laughs loudly and takes a long drink of wine. Arya can smell the fruity stench of it even from two feet away, and she wrinkles her nose. Tyrion nods to her, with almost respect in his small eyes. "That sounded almost like a threat."

"And what if it was?" Arya stares down at him, very proud of the fact that she is taller than the man. She would be taller than him even with her boots off.

"Well, you're a Stark. Its very clear: wild winter eyes, dark hair.…beautiful."

She doesn't understand why that word—"beautiful"—kept coming up tonight. Were they trying to make fun of her? But Arya doesn't understand his point. "So?"

"You look smart, devious. I bet—" Tyrion Lannister leans forward so she could hear him more clearly, and nearly whispers in her ear. "_I bet _you are an excellent liar."

"And if I am?"

"Well, in a Stark, that's quite a mystery, isn't it? You have always been an honorable family. Too honorable in fact. All fire and no brains. Always ready to defend, to do the right thing. How do we know right and wrong? Well there's the question."

"I think the answer depends on the question. And who is doing the asking."

Tyrion nods and points at her, his hand slightly wavering with effects from the wine. "I like you Arya Stark, I like you a lot."

Someone bumps into her from behind before Arya can say anything to the short man and she spins around fists in the air, in time to see Jon's surprised face. He holds his hands up in surrender. "Sorry. I was just looking for Tyrion here."

"You two know each other?" Arya stares between the two of them, surprised.

"We met outside about three minutes ago." Jon says, moving Arya out of the way slightly as he steps towards Tyrion. "I need to discuss some business with—"

A scream cuts off his words. A piercing bloodcurdling scream, followed by the longest, loneliest howling sound Arya had ever heard. The terrified screaming of a wolf, and the agonized sobs of a broken mother.

There is only one thing that can make Catelyn cry like that. Arya starts shoving through the crowd, pushing through people, running, sprinting— In the backyard, beneath the looming shadow of the mansion stood Catelyn.

_Bran._

* * *

**So, I am much more likely to write more to this story if some people review, so people please: drop a line or two. I would love to hear some suggestions, advice, anything. Favorite lines? How did I do with the characters? **

**This is my first ASOIAF story and I love the Stark Family to death. Mostly Arya and Sansa and Rob. ****If I continue (review!) I will write about the Starks moving to Kings Landing, and as you have seen, I will follow the plot as closely as possible! Future Gendry/Arya, and San/San will follow. ****Thanks for reading!**


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